The 100th Hunger Games: Fear is the Mind-Killer
by YourWordsmith
Summary: In honor of the fourth Quarter Quell, the gamemakers have come up with a harrowing twist: each tribute's greatest fear will be waiting for him/her in the arena. ***SYOT CLOSED***
1. Prologue

**Welcome to the 100th hunger games! In honor of the fourth Quarter Quell, the gamemakers have come up with a twist: each tribute's greatest fear will be waiting for him/her in the arena****. (The game makers will explain the logistics of this once tributes have been reaped).**

**Now for a little background: The rebellion that occurred during the 75th hunger games did cause a change for a couple of years. But, as we know all too well, history always ends up repeating itself. And after a good thirty years, President Hans made sure the hunger games continued. And the perpetrators of the rebellion (lovely Katniss and Peeta) were hung in the capitol along with their children. It was quite a spectacle. Everybody was talking about it. If you have a chance to visit the capital, you can view their decaying bodies on display at The Museum of Panem.**

* * *

**Somewhere in District 8:**

Abel Mays, having recently turned forty, has changed immensely since he won the Hunger Games. Not only is he physically hardly recognizable (having developed a slight belly and grown a most conspicuous mustache). He is also a man of a completely different character. He now understands the importance of his self-image, a concept he considered most futile as a naive seventeen-year-old. And in these past twenty-three years he has perfected the craft of skinning hide, lost the small amount of empathy he once possessed, and divorced three women.

At the present time, the man has situated himself in a particularly lush chair, a glass of apple juice perched between his thumb and ring finger. He enjoys the fact that the juice looks like a glass of Whiskey but presents no damage to his liver.

"What a beauty," he mutters. His gaze is fixed on the dead woman pinned to the wall opposite him. Or at least, her bloody remains. The woman was caught stealing from the butcher. And, like all the greedy citizens of District 8, she was sent to Abel Mays' mansion to be "taken care of."

After Abel was caught with a few dismembered corpse's in his basement, President Hans made a deal with the man; Abel could murder as many criminals as he pleased. This compromise both satisfied Abel's bloodlust and President Hans' obsession with what he curiously called justice.

The dead woman's body is pinned up so that she appears to be standing. Abel likes to watch his victims at their full height. It makes them seem alive.

Abel sits back, and takes in the scene for a moment. He admires the grin he has carved into the woman's face.

"Myro!" he calls.

A butler, dressed most impeccably in a dark suit, hurries into the room. The servant glances at the mutilated corpse sprawled on the wall.

"Nice work, sir," Myro says. "I like what you've done with her face. Innocent yet…foreboding. Very…kafka-esque."

Abel laughs. Either Myro has completely misused the word, or he has gotten it all wrong. "That was hardly my intention. I was going more for something very simple: happiness. In honor of the upcoming games."

"Yes. The Quarter Quell. Well, that's very grand, sir." Myro's eyebrows come together, feigning a look of deep thought. After a beat, he asks "Shall I dispose of her?"

"No," Abel says. "Lets keep her out this evening. I'm having my son over for dinner. I want him to share the joy with me."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? Last time-"

"He's grown much more mature," Abel interrupts the man.

Myro's thin lips snake into a forced grin. "As you wish, sir."

* * *

**You can submit up to two tributes. The tributes you send me must be original (This means I don't want any tributes you've sent to other SYOT's, nor do I want any characters from your favorite book or television show). ****If you send me a tribute that is not original, I will murder your tribute in the most disgraceful way imaginable; I'll make sure you're so filled with shame and abasement by your tribute's death that you never submit to a SYOT again (Obviously this is a lie...if you happen to submit an unoriginal tribute then I'll just be annoyed is all. But, please don't. For my own peace of mind). **

**The SYOT sheet is on my profile. Please PM me your tribute. **


	2. Tribute List

**Tribute list:**

**District 1:**

Male: Decin Stage (18)

Female: Romina Stone (17)

**District 2:**

Male: Brayden Markwood (18)

Female: Julie Lèpou (18)

**District 3:**

Male: Plugg Zurin (15)

Female: Charmaine de Rosario (16)

**District 4:**

Male: Xiap Black (14)

Female: Leonai Liostonez (17)

**District 5: **

Male: Ambrose Maximillion (17)

Female: Skyla Lapointe (15)

**District 6:**

Male: Riley Jackson (14)

Female: Ruby Ellesworth (17)

**District 7: **

Male: Alix Shiloh (16)

Female: Adeline Price (17)

**District 8:**

Male: Camo Titan (17)

Female: Cedara Wilda Lindell (18)

**District 9:**

Male: Rio Clas (15)

Female: Marina Stroder (16)

**District 10:**

Male: Emil Cason (13)

Female: Lacey Truitt (15)

**District 11:**

Male: Salem Theon (17)

Female: Sage Hazer (15)

**District 12: **

Male: Sungyeon Avalite (17)

Female: April Pendrad (12)


	3. District 1 Reapings

_"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." ― Franklin D. Roosevelt._

* * *

**District 1 Reapings: **Decin Stage (18) and ****Romina Stone (17)****

Decin Stage's smile is the exception.

Most of his features are matured: his pronounced cheekbones, defined eyebrows, cold and calculating blue eyes. But his smile is the anomaly.

It is boyish, crooked and infantile. It gives a small breath of mischievousness to his otherwise sophisticated appearance. What's most perplexing is that in place of his right canine is a gold tooth.

And that particular gold tooth of Decin's shimmers brilliantly in the sun as he grins. It matches the stud in his ear.

Decin lifts the gun, and squints his left eye shut. After a moment of studying the dog across from him, he turns to the boy beside him.

"If I kill it, you owe me," Decin says.

"Yeah. Yeah. Whatever. I'll do anything you want," Bjorn replies. "I promise."

"And you're sure your parents won't find out?"

"Positive."

Bjorn's answer seems to satisfy Decin. And Decin brings his attention back to the dog. The animal heaves a rather human sigh, dropping its head into the grass once again.

"Stupid lazy ass," Bjorn comments. "Thinks it can shit in my bed _and_ bite my hand. Well it's dead wrong."

Decin can't help the chuckle that slips from his lips. Bjorn has never been one to get along with his household pets. But actually asking Decin to shoot his dog is a first. It's not like Decin minds, anyway.

Decin squints once again, taking aim at the dog's forehead.

"What color you think its brains will be?" Decin asks.

"Pink. Like all brains."

Decin shakes his head. "Not all brains are the same color. Some are lighter, almost white. Some are dark, just shy of purple."

"Yeah. Whatever. I guess."

Decin pulls the trigger. And with a loud bang, and a particularly vile spurt of pink liquid (Bjorn got the color of the dog's brain right), the animal collapses into a limp mass. Blood pours from its head.

"Oh, gross."

"Looks like fruit punch," Decin says, snickering.

"The dog?"

"No the blood, idiot."

"Right," Bjorn replies. "Because the dog looks like your dad."

_"__Hey!"_

Bjorn falls into a fit of giggles.

Decin stares at the dog's corpse for a moment. He approaches the animal, delicately avoiding the puddle of blood. He kneels down next to the dog.

"You're right. It does kind of look like my dad."

Decin points the gun at the animal's belly and pulls the trigger a second time. With another loud bang, the dog's stomach opens and out shoots more of the crimson liquid. A fleck of blood ends up on Decin's nose. He doesn't notice.

"For good measure," Decin says, just before shooting the dog once more.

"You're sick," Bjorn says.

Decin throws his head back, laughing.

"_What _do you think you're doing?"

Decin drops the gun immediately, spinning around. His father stands behind him, wearing an expression so livid his grey eyes seem to quiver in their sockets.

"Nothing. Just-" Decin starts.

"I'm sorry," Bjorn interrupts. "Decin wanted to practice his aim for the Hunger Games. I was willing to sacrifice my dog."

Decin's jaw drops, and he glares at his friend. "That's not what happened. Bjorn asked me to-"

"Shut up!" Mr. Stage screams at his son. "Bjorn, you can leave. I have to speak Decin." The man's gaze doesn't once leave Decin's even as he adresses Bjorn.

Bjorn gladly hurries away. He does feel slightly ashamed about throwing Decin under the bus like he did. But, everyone knows Mr. Stage isn't completely right in the head. And getting into trouble with that man never bodes well.

Mr. Stage grabs the gun. His nostrils flare.

"I told you never to touch my gun," he says.

"I know."

"I told you never to TOUCH MY GUN!" Mr. Stage screams the last three words.

Decin remains silent. He gazes into his father's eyes, anticipating the punch he's going to receive. He only hopes his father avoids his face. He doesn't want to make his debut in front of Panem with a black eye.

Mr. Stage doesn't lift a hand. Instead he lifts the gun. He presses the tip into Decin's chest.

For a moment, Decin truly believes his father will pull the trigger. He raises an eyebrow at the man.

"Are you scared?" Mr. Stage asks his son.

Decin grins. His gold tooth glints. "You know I'm not afraid of anything," he replies.

The man drops the gun to his side. His expression softens. Decin thinks he catches a second of pride in his father's face. But it is gone before Decin even has the chance to savor it.

* * *

"I trust you have mulled over my proposition," Zythe says. The 6 foot 7 man has situated himself in front of the only exit to the training center.

Romina nods, tipping her head back so she can look up at Zythe. Romina's usually effortless smile freezes on her lips.

"Well?" Zythe leans forward, awaiting Romina's answer. "What do you think?"

After a moment of hesitation, Romina responds.

"I'll volunteer," she says. Her tone remains completely apathetic, yet her eyes emit a frenzied panic. Zythe takes the look in her eyes to be a sign of bloodlust, of determination; the man has never been particularly good at reading people's emotions.

"I was hoping you would come around," he mutters, a goofy grin taking over his expression. "You know you're the best girl I've trained. You really have the talent to win."

"Thanks," Romina replies.

Upon hearing Romina's gratitude, Zythe starts into a speech about the prestige, the respect, which one can only obtain through becoming victor. Romina has heard it all before. She has heard the same speech from her parents, her teachers, her classmates.

She thinks such a mindset is completely juvenile.

Romina excuses herself from the training room, interrupting Zythe mid-lecture.

The girl doesn't go home. Obviously, the last thing she wants is to listen to her father quiz her on possible challenges she might face in the arena.

Romina goes to the one place she calls home: Tobias' basement. It is here that she keeps all her canvas', all her paints. Tobias and his family are more than happy to keep her art-room a secret. Such generous people are a rare breed in District 1.

If her parents knew she was splurging her much needed training time painting, she would probably receive a pretty harrowing slap across the cheek.

But her parents don't realize that even though Romina is incredibly proficient with a bow and arrow, she is truly sensational with a paintbrush.

Romina dumps out a mass of blues, yellows and reds from her paint cartons. She furiously slams her paintbrush against the canvas in front of her. Tobias watches from behind her. He has never seen her paint like this. Usually she is graceful, gentle. But today she paints like she is completely demented.

It doesn't take long for the figure in Romina's painting to become prominent.

"Who's that?" Tobias asks.

"It's me," Romina replies, not tearing her gaze from the canvas. "In the games."

And there she is. Her long blonde hair is flecked with blood. A burn runs from her lips to her temple. But what is most harrowing is her smile. It looks nothing like Romina's customary one. It is damaged, broken.

"You don't have to volunteer," Tobias says.

"I do, though."

"We could run away. Just go to District 2. Your parents wont find you there. I can get a good job."

Romina shakes her head. Tobias is always trying to protect her. But sometimes he can't. If only he could accept this.

* * *

Regal Rover has been District 1's escort since the 76th Hunger Games. On this particular spring day, he is positively beaming. Last year's victor from District 1, Theo Rex, is accompanying the man. Regal is sure Theo will act as the perfect mentor.

Regal takes a stance mid-stage. He gives the microphone a few taps, making sure the piece of equipment is to his standards.

"Welcome! I am honored to announce the reapings for the 100th Hunger Games!"

A thunderous round of applause rips through the crowd.

"As you all know," Regal continues. "This is the fourth Quarter Quell. And this evening, President Hans will be announcing a special twist the gamemakers have come up with specially for this Quarter Quell! So remember to watch that at 7 p.m. tonight!"

"8 p.m." Theo Rex corrects the man.

Regal is silent for a moment. He shoots Theo a rather peeved look before continuing. "This evening at 8 p.m. President Hans has promised me that this year will be the most entertaining Quarter Quell to date! Now, I don't want to beat around the bush. Let's get down to business!"

District 1 offers Regal a supply of whistles and shouts as he sticks his hand into the bowl of girls' names to his right.

"And the female tribute is…" he has some difficulty opening the folded piece of paper. "Megan Kanta!"

"I volunteer!" Romina shouts. Her voice comes off as confident, despite her weary temperament.

"Well, come on up here girl!" Regal squeals.

Romina hurries to stage. She nods in greeting to Theo and shakes Regal's hand.

"Can I get a name?" Regal asks.

"My name is Romina Stone."

The escort wiggles his eyebrows. "Nice to meet you, Romina!"

Romina smiles. Her grey eyes are vacant. Yet, her grin is absolutely brilliant.

For a moment she dissociates herself from the situation. She does not notice a crowd full of bloodthirsty civilians, nor does she notice the line of peacekeepers, nor the ominous context of the entire situation. Romina only perceives the colors. And for this one moment, she is content.

"Who is ready to meet our lucky boy?!" Regal asks.

The crowd whistles and cheers. Even Romina claps, presenting a gleeful laugh.

Regal pulls out a boy's name. "Tyson Grey-"

"I volunteer!"

The voice seems to radiate through the air. It takes Romina (along with the cameras) a moment to find the boy that the voice belongs to.

The boy struts to stage, taking his sweet time. He has quite a striking appearance—one not of the average career. He is handsome, no doubt, but not in the muscular, movie-star way tributes from District 1 tend to be. Romina thinks he almost resembles a very glamorous _pirate_.

The boy rolls the right sleeve of his expensive leather jacket up, revealing a tattoo that runs from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder. His dirty-blonde hair is gelled back, yet one loose strand falls neatly across his forehead. He grins, flashing his brilliantly bright gold tooth.

He gladly accepts the mike from Regal and says, "The name is Decin Stage."

His charm and confidence award him no shortage of applause.

"What's your tattoo say?" Regal asks.

"Just some words of inspiration," Decin says. He reads off a couple of the phrases on his arm. "Blood never looked so beautiful…"

Romina's stomach tenses up as she recognizes the phrases tattooed on Decin's arm. The boy's arm is covered with the last words of the past 18 Hunger Games victors. One for every year of Decin's life.

"And one of my personal favorites," Decin continues. "As said by the honorable Theo Rex: District 1 always wins."

**District 2's reapings will be up in the next 3-4 days. Please pop in a review. Feedback nurtures my muse. **


	4. District 2 Reapings

"Without fear there cannot be courage." - Christopher Paolini

* * *

**District 2 Reapings: Brayden Markwood (18) and Julie Lèpou (18)**

According to Brayden Markwood, the 21st century is the most interesting century to have ever existed. It was in the 21st century that the world began to fall apart. And beginnings are always the most enticing, Brayden believes. Especially if such beginnings are the onset to an end.

Brayden is mulling over the concept of a beginning as he sprints down the streets of District 2. His short brown hair flutters in the wind. His electric green eyes are focused on the sky above.

He is trying to distract himself from the fact that he is strangely cold on this spring day, and that he is only in his boxer-briefs.

A group of girls have stopped walking, gaping at Brayden. The Markwood boy slows down a little as he passes them.

"Ladies." He nods, bringing his hands up to his forehead in a polite salute. Brayden always makes time for girls. He finds that girls are one of the three things he needs to survive (the other two being parties and chocolate chip cookies).

The girls giggle, as girls tend to do when in close proximity to the handsome ladies man.

For the most part, Brayden gets a positive reaction. Be it laughter, cheers. He only gets a couple glowers. But those glowers are mostly from the poorer people in District 2. The poor always view Brayden as a snob. They think he's vile for having such rich foster parents (as though it's his fault). They scold the boy for throwing parties in that mansion of his, for aways acting like he doesn't have a care in the world.

Once Brayden arrives back at his house, the group of teens standing just outside erupt into a round of vehement applause.

Duke, the blonde boy standing at the front of the crowd, wraps his arm around Brayden's broad shoulders. Considering the fact that Brayden is 6 feet and 4 inches, for little only-a-tad above-6-feet Duke, it's a big feat.

"Got to give it to you, man," Duke says. "You've got balls."

"Right," Brayden grins. "Two more than you'll ever have."

The crowd laughs.

"Very funny." Duke rolls his eyes.

"Anyway, a dare is a dare," Brayden continues. "You know I never turn one down!"

This is not completely true. Brayden does sometimes turn down dares when he is sober. In fact, he probably wouldn't have sprinted across town in his underwear if he hadn't downed a couple of drinks already this morning.

Duke tosses Brayden a bottle of some most expensive wine. "You've earned it!"

* * *

"Stupid Brayden Markwood," Julie Lepou mutters. She's leaning against her window, watching the boy down a bottle of something that can't be good for his body. "Can't he stop throwing so many parties? They're all so _loud_!"

"Come on, Jules, listen to yourself. Brayden Markwood…stop throwing parties?!" Devin raises a brow. "That's like asking a serial killer to stop killing!"

"Yeah, He'd probably die without five glasses of whiskey in his system," Marcus adds.

"You need to move," Zane says. "Markwood's never gonna change."

"Well," Julie's perfect lips twist into a lustful smirk. "Once I win the games I'll get one of the victor mansions. And I'll never hear another song blasting from that idiot's house again."

"Give him a break. He's had a hard life. If he wants to party, let him," Paris says.

Julie isn't sure how to respond. The truth is, Brayden's past is out of a horror story. Everyone remembers the fire that tore through District 2 a couple years back. Five lost their homes, seven were injured. Yet, miraculously only three died; Brayden's mother, father, and only sibling. It's harrowing how in the span of just an hour, Brayden's whole family turned into ash.

"Besides," Paris continues. "His last party I went to was fun."

Julie crosses her arms over her chest. She has gone to many of Brayden's parties, none of which have been even remotely fun. They all consist of a number of intoxicated teens. And at the last one Julie attended, Brayden, who was probably the most wrecked person there, made passes at her while he had his arm wrapped around another girl. And although Julie is used to guys making passes at her (and she usually likes it), she still finds it rather upsetting when boys don't give any attention to the girl's they're with.

"We can just turn volume ever higher," Zane suggests, bringing the group back to the task at hand: watching last year's Hunger Games. They're down to the final two contestants. There can't be more than a couple minutes left before the victor is crowned.

It was Julie's idea to invite her friends over for a Hunger Games marathon. She hand-picked her favorite games (the 34th, 50th, 74th, 87th and the 99th). She has watched every single Hunger Games, yet she knows her favorite five like the back of her hand. She can recite every tribute's last words, as well as recount exactly what every deceased tribute did wrong.

A young girl appears in the doorway of Julie's room.

"Oh Alice!" Julie remarks. "Come on and watch the end of the 99th with us."

Julie makes room for her little sister on the couch. Alice leans her head against Julie's chest, clearly comforted by her older sister's presence. Julie's almost maternal relationship with Alice confuses some of Julie's friends. Zane is always complaining about his little brother. He doesn't understand why Julie loves her sister so much.

Zane presses play on the television, and the last dual resumes.

"That was a wicked dodge," Marcus remarks.

"Everyone be quiet," Julie whispers to her friends. Her eyes are focused on the screen, her expression one of pure vigilance. "This is it…my favorite part…"

And the girl watches, enthralled, as the boy from 1's sword slides through the boy from 4's chest.

She beams.

She doesn't so much enjoy the thought of murdering. It is the thought of winning, of playing the game just right, that makes her exultant.

* * *

When Julie Lepou volunteers, she receives a warm round of applause. Whistles follow the girl as she makes her way to the stage. The men of District 2 are all pleased with the girl's good looks. Last year's District 2 female resembled a bear more than a human. And although she was a strong tribute (because of brute strength), she received way less sponsors than girl's from District 2 tend to.

Julie tucks a strand of blonde hair that has become loose from her braid behind her ear. She winks at the camera, sporting a flirtatious smile.

This causes a whole new wave of cheers.

"My, my, aren't you _beautiful_!" Caridee Wilkes, District 2's escort, squeals.

Julie smiles brilliantly.

"Now lets meet our boy!" Caridee exclaims. She sticks her hand in the bowl of boys' names, pulling out a small slip of paper. "Brayden Markwood!" Caridee reads.

The audience cheers and screams. Never has anyone heard such a reaction to a reaping.

Brayden walks to stage. He embodies District 2. He towers over Julie, even though the girl is by no means short. His muscular arms, his heavy build, demonstrate power and strength.

Brayden, however, looks momentarily confused. His eyes sweep the crowd, as though he expects someone to volunteer for him. Julie expects this, too. She has never seen him at the training center.

But, Brayden is only awarded the largest set of applause anyone in District 2 has ever received.

"Any volunteers?" Caridee asks.

The cheers continue. They are so vociferous one would think President Hans had just arrived in District 2.

Julie is sure there was a guy from the training center who was going to volunteer this year. Yet, even if he intended to volunteer before, it's unlikely he would want to take the place of a dude that has the whole of District 2 on his side.

"All right! Let's hear it for District 2's tributes!"

"Wait!" Brayden hisses. "I didn't…I'm not ready for-"

His words are drowned out by the applause.

Caridee claps him on the back and says, "Smile, honey!"

A series of expressions cross the boy's face. Confusion, hurt, fear, anger. But they are fleeting, and only Julie (being so close to him) notices. After a couple seconds, Brayden smiles. And he appears confident, comfortable and sure. No longer can Julie catch even an ounce of doubt.

Brayden lifts his arms above his head, working the crowd.

Julie, however grudgingly, realizes that Brayden Markwood is obviously a strong competitor. He will, no doubt, be an asset in the arena. It is best to stay on his good side.

* * *

"You have to be kidding me," Julie fumes. Even as she's trying to take a peaceful moment with her family, Brayden's goodbye posse next door is so loud she can hardly hear her own thoughts. There are cheers and whistles and even what sounds like an explosion. No doubt, his party followed him into the Justice Building.

"I have something very special for you," Aberdeen, Julie's father, says. The man slips a ring onto Julie's finger. "I want you to take this as your token."

"It's very pretty," Julie says, trying to ignore the rave next door.

"It's more than pretty," Aberdeen corrects his daughter. "It is deadly. There's poison inside. Enough to kill two people. But make sure you tell no one. Not even your mentor or escort. They might take it away."

Julie nods.

"Beautiful but deadly, just like you," Julie's mother whispers. Pride coats her words.

**District 3's reapings will be up in the next 3-4 days.**


	5. District 3 Reapings

_"Fear cuts deeper than swords." - George R.R. Martin_

* * *

**District 3 Reapings: Plugg Zurin (15) and Charmaine de Rosario (16)**

The problem is that Charmaine looks just too beautiful on reaping day. Her long brown hair falls down her back, her dark eyes pop in contrast to her tight white dress.

On a customary day, the girl wears plain clothes to school and back home. She remains unnoticed by most. And although it pains her to be part of the background, she knows it is for the best.

It is because she looks so beautiful this morning that Watt notices and decides to walk onto her porch and talk to her.

Watt is tall and has a smile that makes every girl in his grade swoon. Even Charmaine (though she tries her best to hide it).

Charmaine knows almost as soon as Watt sits down next to her that things are about to go horribly wrong.

"Hey," the boy says. "You know, I don't think we've ever really talked before…I-"

"You should go," Charmaine tries to warn the boy. The girl's words are thick with a Filipino accent. Yet her voice is gentle, and she makes the English language sound graceful.

Watt just thinks the girl is shy. He knows that she hardly ever talks at school. She just sits in the front of the class, her head bent over her notebook, taking vigilant notes, getting impeccable marks.

"Don't worry. I don't bite." He places his hand on her leg, a grin spreading across his lips.

It is at this moment that Charmaine's front door opens and out storms Elise, Charmaine's mother. Elise balls her hands into fists.

"_Charmaine!_" The woman's words are sharp, loud, and frighteningly aggressive. Elise pulls her lips into a sneer and glowers at the boy. She raises her right hand, as though she intends to hit him.

Watt perceives this as the moment to book it. He doesn't so much as look back once. Charmaine can tell he wont be talking to her again any time soon. Crazy mothers don't bode well with sixteen-year-old boys.

Elise grabs Charmaine by the ear and forces the girl into the kitchen.

"Stop it!" Charmaine manages to pull herself free. She rubs her ear, then immediately goes into defense. She knows her parents' strict rules against having boys even _remotely_ near the house. "He was only talking to me. We didn't-"

"Huwag-"

"Mama, please-"

"Huwag kang magsalita ng ingles sa bahay!"

"I can speak English in the house if I want to!" Charmaine responds. "You can't tell me what to do anymore!"

Charmaine's mother opens her mouth, ready to rant to Charmaine more about how she must only speak Tagalog in the house. But, Charmaine pushes past her mother and runs out the door. Tears pool in her eyes.

Charmaine understands where her mother is coming from. Charmaine's family is the only one in all of District 3 that still speaks Tagalog. And her parents are strict about Charmaine keeping the language alive in the future. Charmaine's father is always quick to remind her how many languages have died since Panem came into existence.

But sometimes Charmaine doesn't want the responsibility. Sometimes she just wants to be normal.

* * *

"Well, it is essentially exactly what we first saw with the first signal contains the color and intensity of each pixel in a set of rows along with the horizontal and vertical sync signals-"

Plugg groans, his eyelids drooping. Can Mr. Elek be any more dull? Plugg is used to the insipid, but this morning he can hardly breathe because he's just so _bored_.

"Please stop," Plugg mutters.

The boy's words remain unnoticed.

Mr. Elek continues. "the rows of pixels are combined with synchronization signals-"

And then it becomes too much for the boy to handle. The normally polite Plugg slams his hand on the table and screams, "Oh shut up, shut up, _shut up!"_

Mr. Elek does, in fact, shut up. The entire room looks over at the fifteen-year-old. Their smiles hang, about to fall. No one expected such an aggressive outburst from the boy.

Almost immediately, Plugg regrets his eruption. His parents are going to be so angry with him; they have a group of some of the most illustrious men in all of District 3 over for brunch. And Plugg completely ruins it.

Plugg, very reluctantly, glances at his father. The man wears no livid expression. Mr. Zurin sports only an incredibly flushed face; a sign of deep abasement.

"Plugg, go to your room why don't you?" Mr. Zurin says. His tone is calm.

Plugg complies.

"Sorry about that," Mr. Zurin announces to the room once he believes Plugg is out of ear shot. "Don't know what's gotten into him lately." Recently, Plugg has gotten into fights at school (always somehow pertaining to his disdain for technology). It worries his parents, since the boy is usually such a good child.

Once Plugg reaches his room, he slams his door shut.

He couldn't listen to another second of Mr. Elek lecturing the inhabitants of the room on the pedantic science behind technology. It's all anyone in District 3 ever talks about. All students learn in school is the history of electricity and technology, the physics and math and chemistry behind the two. Plugg gets so fed up with such a life. Because although technology is the center of his district, and such a seminal foundation for the whole of Panem, it is nothing more than superficial. Technology isn't part of reality.

Plugg should be focusing on _living, _not on the superficial world of technology.

It is in this moment of frustration that Plugg realizes he cannot live like this anymore. He has to get out of District 3.

And there is only one way to make sure he gets out.

He's going to volunteer.

* * *

"Charmaine de Rosario."

Silence.

"Charmaine de Rosario," Pinkie Rose, District 3's escort, repeats. "Honey, please don't keep us waiting. We don't have all day."

It is Elizabeth Brennan, the girl next to Charmaine, that grabs Charmaine's hand. She squeezes it in an act of reassurance.

Elizabeth and Charmaine used to be friends. But school made them grow apart. Elizabeth became more invested in the immediate physical world; in sports, gymnastics. Charmaine became invested in the things that didn't denote such reality; she focused on theater, on romance novels.

At this moment the two forget they are no longer friends.

The girls exchange no words. But Elizabeth's eyes seem to be saying _it's okay. _Charmaine lets go of the girl's hand and trips forward. She shuffles up to stage.

"Hello, sweetheart," Pinkie says.

"Hello," Charmaine returns. Pinkie immediately notices the accent and makes a mental note to talk more to Charmaine about this later. She knows an accent is good. Anything that makes a tribute stand out is helpful in the Games.

Pinkie quickly asks for volunteers. But she hardly waits for an answer.

"Boy time!" Pinkie squeals. She takes a long time fishing around for a name, enjoying the way every boy looks sick with anxiety. Eventually, she pulls out a name.

"Cade Volts!"

"I volunteer!"

It is Plugg Zurin that jogs up to stage.

The audience gets quiet. A volunteer from a non-career district (even one as close to the capital as District 3) is almost unheard of.

Plugg doesn't look particularly happy himself. In fact, he wears an expression of disdain, looking out into the crowd of District 3 citizens. Once he turns towards the cameras, however, he grins.

He accepts the microphone from Pinkie and announces his name with such clarity and assurance. He looks nothing like the average District 3 boy. He is tall and toned. He is an image of confidence. His light brown hair shimmers brilliantly in the sun. Both Charmaine and Plugg have a very slight tan (which is noticeable in a district where people are so pale they appear almost translucent).

Charmaine immediately avoids making any sort of eye contact with her district partner. She doesn't want him to think she's trying to leach onto him. But, Plugg makes a point of looking into her eyes and smiling.

"Good luck," he says. His dark green eyes look so genuine, Charmaine believes he truly means what he says. But she still can't trust him.

She knows very little about the Games. Yet she is sure of one thing: she can't trust anyone.

****District 4's reapings will be up in the next 3-4 days.****


	6. District 4 Reapings

_"He who has overcome his fears will truly be free." - Aristotle_

* * *

**District 4 Reapings:**** Xiap Black (14) and Leonai Liostonez (17)**

Leonai Liostonez lives with the heaviest heart in all of District 4.

She calculates that it has been exactly 8 years, 2 months, and 24 days since her brother died in the fire. The fire took a number of people's lives, and destroyed fifteen homes. Leonai could have saved her little brother. But, instead, she chose to save herself. She got out of the burning building unscathed. She regrets this deeply.

It is this guilt that weighs down her heart. It will never go away.

When Leonai is reaped she tips her head back and stares at the sky. She enjoys the cloud above her that ambles by.

Leonai loves the sky. Perhaps it is because so many of her loved ones are behind those clouds. Or perhaps it is because the sky is so vast, so full of possibility.

The girl next to Leonai gives her a shove. "You've been reaped," the girl says, like it's something completely ordinary.

"I know," Leonai replies. "I heard."

"Well, why aren't you moving?"

Leonai pulls her eyebrows together. "I am moving. Every single fiber in my body is moving at this moment. So is every single fiber in your body. So is—"

"Okay." The girl looks at Leonai like she's crazy.

Leonai is used to people looking at her similarly. For, Leonai is odd. She, however, has no problem with this fact. She likes being peculiar.

As she walks to stage, she attempts to keep composed and calm. She doesn't check to see if her shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair sits perfectly in place. She doesn't blink her crystal blue eyes in a seductive manner. She simply stands next to her escort. And she isn't plain, she isn't boring. Something about the girl seems so _genuine_.

Tino Bass, the girl's mentor, immediately takes a liking to the girl.

Regina Queen, District 4's escort, instantly dislikes the girl. It's never too early to start thinking about sponsors, to start playing a part. And Leonai is doing none of this.

"Well, let's meet our lucky boy, then," Regina says. She uncerimoneaously pulls a name from the bowl to her left. "Jakob Solmon!"

The crowd gets harrowingly quiet. Everyone on stage can tell something is wrong even before they see the reaped boy come into view.

Jakob limps from the section for twelve-year-olds. He goes as fast as he can, which is still fatally slow.

Quite suddenly, a boy sprints up to stage. He is not much bigger than Jakob- perhaps only two years older at the most. His olive skin is smooth on the right side of his face, yet a deep scar runs across the left side. His black hair looks unkempt, despite the fact that it's relatively short. His eyes are a wonderful mix of blues and greens.

The boy rests a hand on Jakob's shoulder. He looks into Jakob's eyes and nods.

Jakob wraps his arms around the boy in a hug. It's obvious the two know each other well. It's obvious from the way Jakob holds the boy that he trusts him deeply.

"Ex_cuse_ me. Please, get off stage," Regina says. "Save your goodbye's for later."

The boy shakes his head. He points to himself and then to Leonai.

This deeply confuses both Regina and Tino. Leonai, however, understands.

"You're volunteering, right?" Leonai asks the boy.

The boy nods. He helps Jakob off stage, then takes his stance beside Leonai.

"A volunteer!" Regina remarks. "What's your name?"

The boy blinks. Then he looks into the crowd, as if he's waiting for someone to tell the escort his name. However, the onlookers remain silent.

And so does the boy. He slouches, jamming his hands in his pockets. This tight smirk appears on his lips. Regina can't tell if the smile is a production of pride or embarrassment.

"I need your name," Regina repeats, her voice softer but somehow less affable.

He mouthes the words.

Tino grabs the boy's shoulder, roughly,

"Stop playing games and tell the woman your damn name," he spits.

Tino's threat has absolutely no effect on the boy. He only lifts his brow in Tino's direction, his expression remaining almost completely blank.

"His name is Zappy-zap!" a kid in the audience shouts, earning some snickers. The boy's whole body tenses. A deep glower oozes from his blue-green eyes. It's obvious to all onlookers from his particularly livid expression that "Zappy-zap" is most certainly not his name.

It is Jakob, the child reaped before, who meanders his way back to the escort. He says, in a voice so quiet Regina has to bend down to catch his words, "His name is Xiap Black. Spelled X-i-a-p. He can't talk."

Jakob waits for a response. But the escort is too busy thinking to herself what odd spelling the boy has given for a word as simple as "Zap."

Tino grabs the microphone. "Let's hear it for Xiap Black and Leonai Liostonez!"

There is a rather tepid round of applause. Tino blames this on the fact that a tribute from District 4 has not won the Hunger Games in over twenty years. There is not much hope for Xiap or Leonai.

Tino supposes he owes Xiap an apology for earlier. It's not very gentlemanly of the mentor to demand a name from a kid who can't even speak. And why can't Xiap speak? But Tino decides to save the apology and further questioning for the train ride.

Leonai and Xiap share a rather uncommitted handshake.

It is not until Leonai looks into Xiap's stunning eyes that she recognizes him.

She is sure she knows the kid. She has seen him before. But where?

It hits her in a wave.

Last time she saw those eyes was on the beach a good six years ago.

The eyes belonged to a young boy who was writhing in pain, flames engulfing his upper body as civilians tried to save him and tame the fire. Leonai later learned this boy had saved a girl from a boating accident. The boat's engine exploded as he got her off the boat. The girl was unharmed. But the young hero took a wave of fire straight on.

Leonai almost doesn't recognize the boy who stands next to her on stage. For, the burn mark that runs from the left side of his neck to his ear (a scar he no doubt obtained from the accident on the beach) makes him appear markedly different from the clear-skinned boy he was before. It is his eyes she can recollect.

Leonai, a girl who considers herself a coward, stands across from a hero. It sickens her how young he is.

Leonai stares at the bravery that stains the boy's face. And she is ashamed of her clear skin, of her fair complexion.

She should look like him.

****District 5's reapings will be up in the next 3-4 days.****


	7. District 5 Reapings

_"__Find out what you're afraid of and go live there." - Chuck Palahniuk_

* * *

**District 5 Reapings: Ambrose Maximillion (17) and Skyla Lapointe (15)**

Cera Maximillion knocks on her son's door. She opens it just enough to stick her head inside his room.

"Ambrose, I ironed your suit. Where shall I put it?"

Ambrose, from his position in front of the mirror, waves his hand toward his bed.

Cera drapes the boy's suit across his comforter. She straightens up.

"I-" she starts.

"Yes, thank you," Ambrose cuts her off. "You can leave now."

As far as Ambrose is concerned, he is much smarter than his mother. Therefore, he doesn't find it fitting to waste his time listening to her words.

Cera looks at her son for a moment, then bows her head and leaves his room.

Ambrose may be a prodigy, but he is also an incredibly bothersome person to be around. He acts entitled, despite not being from a well-off family. He disrespects anyone who doesn't at least threaten to challenge his wit (and being as smart as he is, he scorns just about everyone). He even sleeps with one of his many skillfully constructed self-portraits above his bed, just because he loves looking at himself when he wakes up.

A woman's sobs echo through the house. Ambrose knows the cries belong to his mother.

She always cries on reaping day. This is because Ambrose's sister was reaped three years ago. She died on the first day of the Games.

Ambrose's sister was quiet and sheepish and (as he likes to describe her) pathetic. Ambrose believes she played the Games so atrociously, she deserved to die. If _he_ were reaped instead of her, he is sure _he_ would have won over the capital with his charm and good looks and then gone on to outsmart _all_ the other tributes.

The seventeen-year-old narcissist slips on his suit and admires himself in the mirror. He adds more gel to his hair, making sure his dark bangs are slicked back to his liking.

* * *

Skyla Lapointe lowers her hands. She keeps her foot on Tix's chest, making sure the boy can't get up.

"That the _best _you got?" Skyla asks.

"No," Tix lies. He knows he can't beat the girl. Though, being a sixteen-year-old boy, he makes sure not to admit this. "I just didn't want to hurt you."

Skyla smiles. A smile is not an expression many are used to seeing on the girl. Her customary expression is rather cold and blank (the girl hardly ever expresses any emotions).

Tix is one of a select few that can make Skyla smile. Although even he has never seen her cry. Tix figures, Skyla is more likely to spontaneously combust than to cry.

Skyla offers Tix a hand, helping him to his feet.

"But you are getting pretty good," Tix admits.

"Thanks to you," Skyla says. It is because of Tix that she even knows what the martial arts are. She would have never gotten as good as she currently is without him.

Tix, being from one of the richest families in District 5, has a wondrous library in his house. Skyla has already read every single book in his library. One of her favorite books was on martial arts. Skyla read it once, then took to practicing kung-fu, karate and tai-quon-do. And in a couple of hours, she was completely proficient in the martial arts.

And she is such a fast learner _not_ because she is incredibly athletic, but because she has an IQ of 152. Anything Skyla wants to be an expert at, she quickly _will_ become an expert at.

Skyla considers her practice of the martial arts a test of strategy, of flexibility, of dexterity. She doesn't much enjoy fighting, but she does enjoy competition.

"I guess I'll see you at the reapings, then," Skyla says, already turning her back on Tix.

"Wait! You don't want to kill some time and then walk over together?"

"I have to get dressed," she says. She can't wear her fraying jeans to the reapings.

"Oh right. I do too."

Skyla squints her eyes. "How do you _forget_ you have to get dressed?"

Skyla sometimes doesn't understand how others' minds aren't always quite as sharp as hers. Although, Tix's mind is usually pretty on point. It is only fairly recently he has started to get a little absent minded around Skyla. This change in mind comes from a change in heart.

Tix has developed a crush on the girl with the IQ of 152.

But this, he keeps a secret. Besides, he has the rest of his life to tell her.

* * *

To say that Skyla Lapointe does not feel emotions (just because she doesn't show them) would be erroneous. When Skyla is reaped a multitude of true feelings swim through her. She is angry, frustrated, and most markedly, scared.

But Skyla simply walks to stage, her expression blank.

Almost everything about Skyla's appearance is light. She is tall and slim. Her skin is pale and spotless. Her eyes are a light and delicate grey. Her eyebrows, however, are the exception. They are dark. The tribute's mentor thinks her eyebrows make her look fierce and almost feline.

As soon as Skyla learns there are no volunteers for her (a fact that doesn't surprise her in the slightest) she starts strategizing. There is no easy way out of the Games. She is going to have to deeply utilize her brilliant mind.

"And our male tribute will be…" District 5's escort, Tatiana Gold, grabs the name at the very top of the bowl of boys' names. "Ambrose Maximillion,"

Ambrose emerges from the section for seventeen-year-olds. He walks with his chin up and his arms crossed in front of his chest. Once he reaches the stage, he approaches Tatiana.

"May I say a few words?" Ambrose asks.

Before Tatiana has a chance to respond, he grabs the microphone.

"Don't expect for those Neanderthals to be able to kill me," he announces. "I shall win!"

There are a couple confused claps and one whistle. Ambrose just grins, handing the microphone back to Tatiana.

The mentor and Skyla meet eyes.

"He seems nice," Skyla mumbles softly, her face blank, her words coated with sarcasm.

The mentor tries desperately not to smile. He doesn't like to watch tributes he likes die.

**District 6's reapings will be up in the next 3-4 days. **


	8. District 6 Reapings

_"The enemy is fear. We think it is hate; but, it is fear." - Gandhi_

* * *

**District 6 Reapings: Riley Jackson (14) and Ruby Ellesworth (17)**

Jason is the best announcer in all of District 6. His talent relies completely on his conspicuous voice. Such a deep baritone is completely uncustomary for a boy of only fifteen years. And for this reason, no one in District 6 can ignore him.

On this particular morning, Jason has managed to collect a crowd of just over one hundred people to stand outside of the district's library.

He cups his hands over his mouth and bellows, "Gather round, gather round! Bear witness to the future legend! The one…the only…Riley Jackson!"

Especially among the younger occupants of District 6, Riley Jackson is already famous. Famous enough that if he claims he'll be doing one of his stunts, just about his whole school will show up to witness the event. With or without Jason announcing.

The crowd has its usuals: the group of boys who wait eagerly to see their friend attempt a dangerous stunt (in the hopes that they might observe a broken bone), and the even larger group of young girls who come to giggle and twirl their hair, with the futile hopes that today will be the day Riley will finally notice them.

Riley stands at the top of the library's grand staircase. His skateboard is tucked under his arm. His wavy brown hair, which usually falls in eyes, is blown back by a gust of wind, revealing his bright blue irises.

He estimates the staircase's railing is probably around 50 feet long. Gravity is on his side for this stunt, though. For, the slant of the railing means he just has to keep his skateboard from falling off…gravity will do the rest of the work for him.

Riley lives for the rush. He lives for the moment before he puts his body in danger, the adrenaline, the sound of his pulse in his ears.

Riley always saves his greatest stunts for reaping day. For, District 6 is always filled with such dejection on the particular day. And everyone is eager for a distraction.

He slides his helmet over his head.

Rafa bites his lip, concerned for his friend. "Aren't you scared?" Rafa asks.

"Of what?" Riley gazes at his friend, looking somewhat confused.

"Like…I don't know…_dying_?"

Riley laughs. His laugh is so incredibly boyish and lighthearted that it makes everyone around him relax.

"I'm not going to die," he assures Rafa. Then he takes a deep breath, getting ready to start.

"Wait! One more thing…if you _do _die, who gets your skateboard?"

Riley grins. Of course Rafa asks this. Riley owns one of the only skateboards in District 6. Such recreational items are not easy to come by in the district. Mr. Jackson paid good money for the skateboard. And Rafa, coming from one of the poorer homes in District 6, has no way of getting a skateboard.

"I tell you what, once I stick the landing, I'll let you burrow it for the day," Riley responds. A confident half-smirk rests on his lips.

* * *

People can tell Ruby Ellesworth is rich just from her appearance. Her blonde hair is clean and untangled. Her lips are glossy and pink. Her teeth are straight and white. A few freckles adorn her nose and cheeks.

"I'm _bored_." Ruby huffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I need to practice some more."

"Ruby, you've done enough practicing," Alicia assures her friend. "You're ready for the Games."

Ruby shakes her head. An eager grin spreads across her lips. "Find me some more people to practice on."

Alicia looks hesitant. "I have to fix my hair for the reapings."

"Yeah," Sianna agrees. "Me too."

"_Fine,"_ Ruby says. "I'll find some myself."

Ruby can tell her friends are just scared to help Ruby train. District 6 is harsh in its law against training for the Hunger Games. But, Ruby isn't much for following rules. And it is actually _because_ of her respect for District 6 that she wants to win the Games. She wants Panem to view District 6 as powerful, as reputable. She believes becoming victor will do this (at least for the time being).

Alicia and Sianna leave Ruby standing alone by the roadside.

Two boys walk past, deep in conversation.

"He does this backflip off the railing and sticks the landing!" The taller boy exclaims.

"Riley Jackson has to be the best skateboarder _ever,_" the short one agrees.

"Anyone can ride a skateboard," Ruby interrupts the boys. They look at the girl, confused by her sudden interruption.

"Not like him," the short one says. "It was _so_ cool."

"Yeah?" Ruby still doesn't look impressed. Though now a brilliant smile lights up her face. "You want to see something _really_ cool?"

The boys have no idea what a ditzy blonde like Ruby will have to show them. But since she's a girl and she's pretty, they figure they might just be about to get lucky.

"Okay. Show me something." The taller boy says. A greasy grin occupies his lips.

"You have to play along, too, though," Ruby says.

"Sure." The short boy says. Now the guys are getting excited.

"All you have to do is outrun me."

"Huh?"

"Yeah. I'll give you a head-start," Ruby says. "If you get home before I catch you, you win."

"And what are you gonna _do_ to us if you catch us?" the taller boy wiggles his eyebrows.

Ruby pulls out the pocket knife she has tucked in her shoe. "Just don't get caught."

"Oh _shit." _The boys start into a sprint.

Ruby giggles, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

Although Ruby's fast, she isn't the fastest out there. But she has incredible stamina. She can outrun even the fastest given enough time. So, when the boys start to get a little tired, Ruby goes in for the kill.

She catches the short boy first. She simply grabs his shoulder and places the knife against his back.

"Dead!" she chirps, her voice as light and carefree as ever.

Before the boy has a chance to respond, she's off running again.

The taller boy pleads with the girl. "Please. Don't hurt me. I'll do anything."

Ruby smirks, a girly giggle falling from her lips.

"I'm not going to hurt you, silly. I'm just practicing." She gets off the boy.

She fiddles with the sleeve of her tight red dress. She opens the small pocket-mirror she has tucked in her shoe. She checks her lipstick, and makes sure her hair is still as neat as it was this morning.

Not only does she have to make sure she's fit to win the Games. She also has to look her best when she makes her debut in front of Panem.

* * *

"A volunteer!" Rafa muses. "In District 6!"

"She must be crazy," Jason says. "What do you think, Riley? Is she mentally retarded or suicidal?"

Riley opens his mouth to answer, but stops once he sees Ruby. She definitely doesn't look like a suicidal tribute. She grins confidently, twirling a strand of her blonde hair. She doesn't much look mentally challenged either. In fact, she almost reminds him of the careers he sees volunteer in Districts 1 and 2.

"What do we call careers?" Riley asks.

"They would fall under the 'mentally retarded' label," Jason says.

Riley stops paying attention to Jason. He turns back to the girl. She looks beautiful and confident enough to get sponsors, plus she looks healthy and nourished (unlike many children from District 6). If he were going to put money on a tribute from District 6 ever winning, he might bet on her.

"My name is Ruby Ellesworth," she introduces herself once she receives the microphone from the escort, Costanza Hope. "And I'm here to bring District 6 out of the shadows and into the glory it deserves!"

She receives a hearty round of applause.

Costanza looks absolutely thrilled with Ruby. Maybe District 6 has a shot this year after all.

"Let's move on to the boys, then," Costanza says. She creeps towards the bowl of boys' names. It's almost as though she intends to build the tension.

"_Why_ is she walking like she has to take a _shit_?" Jason whispers.

"My thoughts exactly," Riley responds through a tight smirk. The two boys always rip on Costanza at the reapings. It's a harmful way to ease the tension.

"And our lucky boy is…Riley Jackson!"

The crowd immediately starts into a fit of whispers. Almost everyone knows the boy.

Rafa grabs onto the hem of Riley's shit.

"Holy _shit," _he hisses. "That's you!"

Riley swallows thickly, then lets out a very shaky breath. Rafa notices, for perhaps the first time in his life, an expression very close to fear in Riley's eyes. This deeply scares Rafa. Since, Riley is always so laid-back, always up for a challenge, always so _fearless_.

Almost as suddenly as the fear arrives, it is gone.

Riley sports a boyish half-smile, one that many recognize as the boy's signature accessory. He starts up to stage. He straightens his thin frame to his largest height of five feet and ten inches. He runs his hand across his forehead, pulling his brown hair out of his brilliant blue eyes.

Although the escort figures the boy is in need of a hair trim, she is thrilled with the boy's good looks. And even though he is fourteen, she thinks he could easily pass for sixteen.

Once he comes to stage, Costanza asks for volunteers.

It is when Riley looks at his family that his smile falters. Two of his younger sister's are crying. The third has her head buried in her father's shirt. His mother is looking right at him. A deep and serious sadness drips down her cheeks.

He looks away.

The crowd claps for the boy once no one volunteers. It is a supportive but not joyful round of applause; Riley has a lot of fans. None of them want to see him die.

**District 7's reapings will be up in the next 3-4 days.**


	9. District 7 Reapings

_"The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." - Nelson Mandela_

* * *

**District 7 Reapings: Alix Shiloh (16) and Adeline Price (17)**

Some people figure it should be illegal to be as handsome as Alix Shiloh. Even when he has smut on his face, he still looks out of a painting. His hazel eyes are almost golden. His brown hair, despite the fact that it's generally somewhat unkempt, still catches the light in such a way that it seems to shimmer.

Yet, regardless of the boy's good looks, he spends most of his time hidden beneath his hood. And he doesn't reek of confidence or hauteur as most attractive people do. In fact, there's something about the way he holds himself that makes him rather ordinary. But it is because he is easy to overlook that he is a good pickpocket.

And on this spring day, with the reapings only twenty minutes away, Alix stands in the shadow of a grand tree. He fiddles with his sunglasses, then makes sure his hood sits atop his head to his liking.

He studies the passers-by, looking for a luxurious coat, a capital hairdo, any sign that someone rich is close by.

That's when he sees his mark.

Alix slinks down the street with his hands shoved in his pockets. His dilapidated shoes hit the cobblestones, not even emitting a faint scuffle. He slips, unnoticed, behind a blonde-haired woman.

The woman tips her head back, admiring the beautiful blue of the sky on such a fine day.

Alix's fingers circle the change purse in the woman's bag. He holds his breath, careful not to give away his presence in any way. After a quick glance at the surrounding people, he grabs the change purse swiftly, slipping it into his pocket.

He casually saunters past the woman, towards the group of boys huddled outside District 7's bookstore.

"And _that_'s how it's done," Lee whispers to the other boys.

Alix tosses Lee the woman's pouch. He may be a thief. But he isn't greedy. He shares his profit with his friends.

"_Dude_!" Lee hisses. "She's got to be crazy walking around with this kind of money. This is almost enough to feed my family for two _weeks!_"

Oliver claps Alix on the back. "Well _done_, mate!"

"Are you actually going to wear _that_ to the reapings?" Kade interrupts, gesturing to Alix's old sweater and fraying jeans.

"I was going to ask you guys the same question," Alix replies. "Don't you know how stupid you look all dressed up? Like a couple of real _snobs_."

Once the boys arrive at District 7's main square for the reapings, they all find their parents to exchange one last embrace. All except Alix. He knows he wont find any comforting faces in the sea of parents and loved ones.

Alix knows hardly any adults in all of District 7. He supposes his old teachers (from when he still went to school, anyway) would remember him. But, there is only one adult Alix presently interacts with. And that's the baker. The baker is about as close to a guardian as Alix has. Alix gets to sleep in the baker's basement, as long as he pays the man half of what he makes pickpocketing. Alix couldn't be happier with the arrangement. Besides, sometimes the baker gives him free bread.

* * *

Adeline sprints through the streets of District 7. The girl's tightly curled brown hair is blown into a splendid mane around her tanned face. Her light blue, almost grey, eyes are focused on the stretch before her.

She isn't late for the reapings. Adeline is one of the more predictable and reliable girls of seventeen. Even if she were on her way to the gallows to be hung, she would be timely.

Adeline is running because she loves the feeling. She adores the spring wind slapping her face, the way her legs ache, the way her lungs gasp for breath. When she runs, there is no room for anxiety, no room for the desolation she has become so used to enduring.

And Adeline is fast for such a small girl. In fact, Adeline is the fastest girl in all of District 7. Some people, after seeing the girl run, will claim she is the fastest girl in the world. But, this is probably untrue.

Adeline gets stares as she sprints. People are stricken by her speed.

"_Adeline_!" A shout comes from behind her. She immediately spins around and slows down.

Ava Oakley, a girl paralyzed from the waist down, precariously rolls her wheelchair across the cobblestones. Quite obviously, she doesn't have the ease or the speed Adeline has. But she has a massive grin on her face that seems to make up for all her faults.

"Ava." Adeline nods in greeting towards the girl.

"Been trying to catch up to you for a while," Ava says, breathlessly. "Were you ignoring me? I kept shouting your name like an idiot back there. Pretty sure people thought I had Tourette Syndrome."

Adeline laughs softly. "Sorry. I was in my mind, I guess."

"Yeah? What were you thinking about?" Ava asks.

"Nothing."

Ava figures Adeline must be thinking about her parents. Adeline's parents were both reaped only a few months after Adeline was born. It was a harsh and cruel turn of fate, one that made Adeline grow up believing the world was out to get her.

It is as they are checking in at the reapings (which means getting blood drawn from their fingers by a stern peacekeeper) that Adeline notices Walker. Walker, District 7's last victor of the Hunger Games, is staring right at Adeline. He waves in her direction, grinning. It's strange to see such a young man standing on stage as mentor. Walker only just turned nineteen. He is also an inspiration to all the under dogs that are reaped for the games. No one thought the boy would win at only sixteen years old.

"Your boyfriend is waving at you," Ava informs Adeline.

"He's _not _my boyfriend." Adeline assures her. Though this isn't entirely true. Sure, Adeline and Walker might not decide to label their relationship. But the two have been more than friends since long before Walker was reaped. And they only seem to spend more and more time together.

Adeline follows Ava to the section for seventeen-year-olds. The two girls chat about light topics, warding off the anxiety that the reapings always bring.

District 7's escort, Rizzo Dulce, despite being quite an airhead, is probably the least annoying capital woman Adeline has ever seen. Rizzo never seems to put on an act for the reapings. And on this particular afternoon, Rizzo gets right down to business. She pulls a piece of paper from the bowl of girls' names.

"Ava Oakley!"

It is almost like a reflex for Adeline. She shoots her arm up, and shouts, "I volunteer!"

Ava grabs her sleeve. "You don't have to-"

"It's okay," Adeline squeezes Ava's hand. Then she makes her way up to stage. It is only when Adeline shares a weighted look with Walker that she realizes what she has done. But even then, she is confident in her decision. Ava doesn't even have a fighting chance. Adeline can't just stand back and let her friend be killed.

"What's you name?" Rizzo asks.

"Adeline Price," she says. The microphone carries her soft voice through the audience.

"Nice to meet you Adeline," Rizzo says. She has a certain ease about her that makes her seem much more genuine than most other escorts. She wastes no time moving on to the boys.

"Alix Shiloh!" Rizzo announces.

Alix, wearing his sunglasses and hood, slips out of the section for sixteen-year-olds. His shoes make no sound as he walks across the stones and pebbles that cover the ground.

Walker swipes Alix's sunglasses once the boy gets to stage. And after realizing shadows still cover most of Alix's face, he pulls the hood off his head, too.

Thus, an incredibly good-looking boy with brown hair and soft hazel eyes is revealed. The only thing mildly off about Alix's appearance is the way dark circles surround his eyes, like he's been seriously starved of sleep and nutrition for a good while. It's strange to see such a remarkable looking boy in such shabby and worn out attire. His jeans (which are filled with holes) aren't quite long enough to cover his ankles, the sole of his right shoe has fallen off, and his slim frame is almost smuggled by the huge, dusty, black sweater he wears.

Adeline has never seen the boy before in her entire life. It's strange, since District 7 isn't very large. She has at least _seen_ most of the teenagers in the district before.

The boy's expression is slightly peeved for a moment, as though he was content hiding beneath his hood. But he manages a smile after a while. And a rather brilliant smile, at that.

Adeline notices a couple white scars on the back of Alix's neck. She leans in, wanting to get a better look. But the boy fiddles with the back of his sweater so the marks are covered once again.

* * *

Alix presses himself against the dark wall of the Justice Building. He looks down at his shoes. With his dark clothing and his hood casting such a shadow over his face, he almost disappears into the wall.

Lee, Oliver and Kade come in to say their goodbyes. The boys stand around him, their faces sober and scared.

"Oh, one thing…before you guys go…" Alix reaches into his pocket, pulling out a heavily jeweled necklace. "Got this off Rizzo just outside. Damn, that woman is an airhead. I probably could have stolen her wig too and she wouldn't have noticed."

**District 8's reapings will be up in the next 3-4 days.**


	10. District 8 Reapings

_"It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live." - Marcus Aurelius_

* * *

**District 8 Reapings: Camo Titan (17) and Cedara Wilda Lindell (18)**

Cedara Wilda Lindell tucks a cigarette between her thin lips. Her long, frizzy blonde hair is pulled back into an unkempt braid. Her small, beady eyes are focused on the boy in front of her. Her sharp nose twitches, a sign of her excitement.

"And all the kings horses and all the kings men," Cedara says, her voice gentle and affable. "Wont be able to put _little Davey_ together again."

Cedara runs the knife across David's cheek. She applies just enough pressure to scrape the skin, but not draw blood.

"You're crazy! You can't do this…" the boy mutters. "You can't-"

"Be _quiet," _Cedara hisses. She digs the blade into the boy's temple, allowing a spurt of crimson liquid to gush all over her hand. David moans, a couple tears leaking from his eyes.

Cedara absolutely loves seeing the boy in so much pain, in so much distress. She has always found the boy's confidence, his competence, aggravating. She has long wished for the chance to see him cry, to turn him into a pathetic joke of a boy, to torture him until his throat is raw from his screams, to watch the life drift from his eyes, to kill him.

It's hard to blame David. Although he has never given her much attention, he has never disrespected her. Cedara just doesn't like people _like _David_. _Becauase people like David aren't ruined. And Cedara simply likes to ruin people. It is her favorite hobby.

"Please let me go," the boy pleads, his voice strained because of his tears. "I'll do anything."

"Okay. Lick your blood off my hand," she says. She is going to kill him anyway. She just wants to see how low he will stoop first.

David will be her first kill. She has tortured a couple other people, but she has never given into her want to kill. She knows murder, if not pulled off perfectly, could get _her_ killed. And Cedara does not want to die. But she has recently figured out if she cuts David up into pieces no bigger than six inches each, she can stuff him in a garbage bag. The occupants of District 8 never go checking the dumpsters.

The door to Cedara's room bangs open.

"What the _devil _do you think you're doing?" Rowan, Cedara's sister, asks.

The cigarette drops from Cedara's lips. "What the _devil _does it look like I'm doing? I'm having a little chat with a friend, Rowan."

Even though Rowan is the older sibling, she has the softer backbone of the two. People are more likely to see Rowan following around Cedara than the other way around.

David starts blubbering in Rowan's direction. "Please…help…she's going to kill me…"

"_Dad!" _Rowan screams. "_Cedara's trying to kill someone_!"

Barker, or "Dad" as Rowan and Cedara refer to him, ambles into Cedara's room.

"What's going on?" his voice is tired, soft, dejected.

David's moans have turned into sobs. He tries to choke out coherent sentences, but does not accomplish such a feat.

Barker sighs heavily. He unties David's ankles and wrists.

"Take the boy home, Rowan," he says. Once David leaves with his eldest, Barker turns to look at Cedara. He says nothing. But Cedara can see the fear in his eyes.

He slides out of her room, slamming the door behind him. Cedara hears the man locking the door from the outside.

"Let me _out!" _she insists, slamming her hands on the door.

Barker doesn't respond. He is only protecting himself. When Cedara gets angry, no one is safe. The girl killed her own mother when she was only ten years old. She claims it was an accident. But even Barker is weary with her claim. The girl didn't seem the least bit upset when her mother died.

* * *

Camo Titan taps his fingertips against his thumb. The movement is constant, except for small two-second pauses. Some people never notice the manner in which Camo taps his fingers. Others never understand why he does it.

Only few have figured out that he is unconsciously counting the syllables in each conversation he partakes in or overhears. Even when he is alone, he counts the syllables of the thoughts that run through his mind. He is never completely still. This is on account of his OCD.

"Oh no, no, _don't_ invite her over here," Camo insists. Camo and his twin sister, North, are already at District 8's main square. They always wait until the last moment before they split up for the reapings. Camo doesn't want to spend the last few minutes before the reapings with any of North's friends.

North rolls her eyes, ignoring her brother's plea. She waves over her friend Lena. North believes Camo doesn't really dislike her friends. He simply doesn't like it when North hangs out with other people. Because when she isn't with him, he is alone. Camo has just about no friends. Most people don't enjoy his sarcasm or his constant rude and snarky remarks.

"Oh, _God_," Camo says, watching Lena approach. "She looks even more horrible than I remember."

"No she doesn't," North argues. "Lena is absolutely beautiful."

"You girls always do that!" Camo scoffs.

"Do what?"

"Say your friend is really beautiful when in reality you _know_ your friend looks like Katniss Everdeen's rotting corpse."

"Don't _say _that," North urges. Joking about anyone involved in the rebellion is the last thing one wants to do when a flood of peacekeepers are only feet away.

North is everything Camo is not. She is humble, gentle and kind. And Camo absolutely adores this (and everything else) about his sister. The two even look markedly different; Camo expresses the green eyes and auburn hair that belonged to his mother. North has the blonde hair and brown eyes of her father.

Lena hugs North once she reaches the twins.

"I keep forgetting that we have to split up for the reapings," she says, mostly just for the conversation.

"I've been wondering, Lena," Camo interrupts, smirking. "Do you ever get tired of being _this _retarded?"

"Just ignore him," North advises.

Lena opens her mouth, then closes it again. She never talks back to Camo. This isn't because she is afraid of him, nor is it because she's secretly fond of him. It's because she pities him.

After the twins' parents were murdered, they relied completely on each other. They were each others guardians. They spent every living moment of every day together. But recently North has started opening up to other people. Even Lena can tell Camo feels somewhat threatened by anyone that hangs around his sister.

For this reason, Lena just ignores Camo's words. She mumbles a, "See you later, North" and walks away.

"Why are you so rude?!" North asks her brother once Lena is out of earshot. "All you do is hurt people's feelings!"

"Sorry. I wasn't trying to be mean."

Sure, Camo wasn't putting much work into hurting Lena, though he certainly wasn't trying _not_ to. Camo figures North is nice enough for the both of them, so he makes no effort in the "being nice" department.

* * *

Cedara's decision to volunteer occurs rather suddenly. She watches a girl from the section in front of her get reaped. Cedara feels a pang of jealousy. This girl is going to have the opportunity to fight, to torture, to _kill. _And Cedara will be stuck in District 8 for the rest of eternity, her sister always barging in on her when she's trying to enjoy a good torture session, her father locking her away whenever she has the thrill to kill.

Cedara figures her life in District 8 is no way to _live._

So, the girl walks right up to stage.

"I'm volunteering," she announces, much to everyone's surprise. "My name is Cedara Wilda Lindell."

Her eyes skim over the sea of people in front of her. Some of those who catch her gaze look away, unsettled by a certain calmness in her bright, blue eyes.

Cedara turns to the man on her right. Abel Mays, the man who will act as Cedara's mentor, shares a look with her.

Cedara smiles.

Abel returns the gesture.

"And the male tribute is Camo Titan!" District 8's escort announces.

Camo is intercepted on his way to stage by North. He whispers something in her ear, it appears to be some sort of consolation. Though, North still has to be ushered back to her section by a couple peacekeepers.

Camo hardly looks concerned. His air is one of confidence, of nonchalance.

**It has been two months. Alas, my updates twice a week will have to stop. I'm going to be away for a while, so don't expect the next chapter for at least two weeks. **


	11. District 9 Reapings

_"Fear doesn't shut you down; it wakes you up" - Veronica Roth_

* * *

**District 9 Reapings: Rio Clas (15) and Marina Stroder (16)**

There is nothing more tragic than a joyful past. Marina Stroder mulls over this fact as she wakes up, cheek pressed against the cold cobblestones.

There's no such thing as lying in when one sleeps on the streets. Marina and the other two homeless girls know to only sleep until the sun is up. Come day, peacekeepers will comb the streets. And Peacekeepers don't take to the homeless kindly.

"It's sunny outside," Marina mutters to the two girls beside her. She doesn't say this with much glee. She simply states the fact.

"Perfect weather for the reapings," Fayza replies in the same matter-of-fact tone. It's much too early in the morning for either girl to add enthusiasm to their words.

"Do we have to go?" Melody, the youngest of the girls, asks.

"It's better to play it safe," Marina tells the girl. "If people find us skipping…" she doesn't finish the sentence. She doesn't have to.

Marina is unlike the other homeless girls. It is her past that sets her apart. For, Marina _had_ a very good home. She had two loving parents. She had one beautiful goddess of a little sister. But, now she has two _dead_ parents. And one beautiful goddess of a _dead_ little sister. What a horrible difference the present tense makes in the girl's life.

Fayza and her younger sister, Melody, are homeless because their home was so bad the streets of District 9 were a solace. They never experienced the same fall from grace Marina did. Most girls never do. Marina supposes this makes her special, in a very morbid way.

"What are we gonna do for breakfast?" Melody asks. She has pointed her question towards Marina.

"I'll see what I can find," Marina says. She's always been the one to get food. Fayza nor Melody have the same slippery fingers that Marina has. They rely on her for stealing.

And Marina is pretty skilled when it comes to the art of thieving. It's all really learning how to read people, figuring out how to manipulate people. She can tell the exact moment that the baker isn't quite alert; the moment that he wont notice her stick a loaf of bread under her shirt. Marina is, quite simply, good at reading people. This gets her almost everything she needs to survive on the streets of District 9.

"You two wait here," Marina says, getting to her feet. "I'll be back soon. With breakfast. And it's gonna be a good breakfast today. I can feel it." She grins, offering one last wave before heading off.

The girls watch their friend's tall, slim, figure glide down the street. Her brown hair, with brilliant blonde and red highlights apparent in the sun, billows behind her in the wind.

* * *

Rio Clas' shoes barely lift the ground as he shuffles across the street. He thrusts his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. The collar of his button-down shirt is torn, and the laceration he's got on his knee is bleeding through the fabric of his pants.

Rio is handsome in a boyish sort of way. His brown hair still sticks up in that unruly and childish manner it tends to. His soft brown eyes are big and bright. Even at this moment in which a grimace occupies his face, the two irises glisten brilliantly.

He pauses, and leans over with his hands resting on his knees. He spits a wad of blood-filled saliva onto the street. He grimaces. The coppery taste in his mouth makes his stomach uneasy.

A couple of girl's from Rio's grade pass by him. They stare at him as they hurry past, taking in his disheveled appearance. Though not one of them mutters even a word in his direction. The last thing most people want is to get involved with "the basket case" (as many of the kids have started calling him). He knows he deserves the name.

"Shit," a voice comes from behind Rio. "Had quite a morning, have you?"

Rio spins around, sharply. Timba, perhaps Rio's only friend as of now, has stopped walking. He's standing behind Rio, a concerned frown upon his lips.

"I'm fine," Rio responds, curtly. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

Timba sighs. "Who was it this time?"

"Jace. Stupid asshole. Said my dad was…" Rio shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. He's gonna pay for this. He is."

"You have to just ignore him next time," Timba says. "Otherwise you're just going to keep getting beat up."

Rio's eyes immediately narrow. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"I…just…" Timba knows all too well he has to be careful what he says to Rio. Rio has always had trouble controlling his anger. But, in the past couple years it's got even worse. Almost every day Rio gets into a fight with one of the boy's at school. A black eye has become the boy's signature accessory. "Jace is a lot bigger than you," Timba continues. Although Rio is almost average height for a fifteen-year-old boy, he's skinny and scrawny, just like all kids who don't quite get enough food.

"You calling me weak?" Rio asks.

"No. I'm just looking out for you."

Rio doesn't know how to respond. No one looks out for him. Ever. His mother's dead. Even his father hardly pays attention to him. Timba is the only kid at school that doesn't ignore him.

And Timba is probably the most generous person in District 9, Rio reckons. He goes out of his way to help civilians, always respects everyone he interacts with. Sometimes Rio wonders if he deserves such a friend.

"Well, ignoring all the blood, and torn clothes…" Timba says, "You look nice."

Rio scoffs. "Sure. Okay."

"No. You really do."

Rio stares at Timba. He doesn't respond.

For a moment the two boys stand in silence across from each other. Timba smiles in that soft way he does.

Rio has such an urge to brush back the strand of hair on Timba's forehead, to lean in and-

Rio shakes his head. He looks away. He's been having such off thoughts lately.

"See you later," he says. "I gotta go."

* * *

After Marina is reaped, she thinks of her friends. As much as she wants to fall right to her bony knees and wail and moan, she knows Fayza and Melody need to see her look strong.

So standing on stage, Marina crosses her arms over her chest and stares, cooly, into the audience. Her blue-green eyes sweep across the faces of her district. A hint of a smile lies on her lips. She is scared, she is terrified. But she is also aware of the fact that not a single person watching her knows.

The skirt she sports reveals a scar on her right knee. Although the scar is only on account of a fishing trip, it certainly gives her an air of toughness. The onlookers are all slightly mesmerized by such a thin, pretty girl, embodying such a look of power.

"Now, who wants to meet our lucky boy?" District 9's escort, Tuna Moon, asks.

A tepid round of applause follows. Tuna draws a boy's name, not even trying to get the audience excited.

"Our male tribute is…Rio Clas!"

Immediately there's a slight commotion. The cameras focus on a boy sprinting through the crowd. A couple of the boys around him try to stop him, but he manages to get away. He sprints across the square. He dodges one peacekeeper particularly brilliantly, only to get slammed onto the ground a moment later.

"Get off me!" The boy, Rio, demands. He shoots a punch right at one of the peacekeepers. In a second he's got his hands pinned behind his back and he's being ushered to stage. He keeps his voice low, so much of his audience is left only to lipread the curses he aims at the peacekeepers around him.

"Any volunteers?" Tuna asks.

Rio gets quiet, his gaze sweeping over the audience. His brown eyes soften, and a hopeful, pleading look oozes from them.

No one volunteers.

* * *

**It's been a while. Trust me, I know. And I'm sorry. Really sorry. **

**District 10's reapings should be up soon. **


End file.
